


A Healthy Diet

by Aerine



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: CONNOR JUST BEIN CONNOR I GUESS, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Smut, i literally looked up how to please a girl through oral sex I am a whole ass virgin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 09:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14974334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerine/pseuds/Aerine
Summary: Old habits die hard.





	A Healthy Diet

After your rash outburst of “ _Oh, for fuck’s sake, Connor_!” there is no space for the beginning of any conflict between you and your beloved, his hands already grasping at the material you sit so comfortably on to slither to the edge of your bed. With a bob of his head, his thumb points towards the direction of your kitchen, a room of your apartment that you would rather not be in. The shred of deviancy in him tugs at the corner of his lips, damning you into ever wishing for it, as his next course of action is to glide the lines of his fingertips across the curve of his mouth and allow them inside. A glint in his irises form at the groan that escapes you, an exasperation he enjoys because the situation allows it, except his hands are slow in closing the door behind him as if expecting you to intercept him.

_“Heart rate elevating, temperature rising. Excited?” If he was human, he would imagine the same for him would transpire; the sight of the tension coating your bare form driving him to his limit—the question was if such a limit existed when around you—was enough for his functioning to threaten dysfunction. With a grin or a brush of your fingers, you were a distraction to a body created to become order and repose. With a glance thrown over your shoulder, there came a turmoil rendered useless and trivial inside of him, especially because something about you was so right in a world that was so wrong to him. This influx of emotions brought him to his knees yet led him to freedom, and it was a complexity he gratefully shared with humans._

_“… No,” you grumbled, a glance at your periphery lingering on the handcuffs severing all possibilities of friction between you and him._

_“You can’t fool me, you know. After all, despite my deviancy—”_

_“I still have the ability to scan and decipher all input from humans, including heart rate and levels of cholesterol.” Sounded like a sentence he would dare say to you. “I know.”_

You wish you could have assured yourself of your knowledge, especially because that reminder could have been the difference between Connor’s face between your legs and… now, desiring of an alternative where his hands are wrapped around your thighs rather than a spatula. You eye the bubbles forming, popping, at the curves of your fry pan, the scent of bacon hovering above the two of you. Your hands are wrapped around your countertop beside your stove, his arm beside you to take in the brunt of the volatile grease dirtying your floors; the appreciation of the gesture is common in such mornings, except the reflection of the sun off your windows cause you to make the decision that this is no morning to be wasting cooking breakfast to remedy your… low iron levels.

_“Then it should be no problem if I remind you, is that right?”_

_In fact, it was no issue at all for you to witness his intake of questionable substances. Since your few investigations with him and his partner, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, you had grown to turn the other cheek when his tongue reached past his lips to lick a stripe off his hand. While people like the veteran detective shared evidence of their disgust, there was a strong urge between your legs that pleaded taking care of; as a result, your thighs collided in perhaps the most inappropriate time possible for such thoughts to overwhelm your mentality. Why shake in anticipation at crime scenes when the entertainment was before you, an android now Deviant deciding there was no less of a foolproof way to analyze forensic evidence? What drugs were CyberLife under to decide such a concept?_

_When would your letter reach their office, telling them **thank you**?_

_Thank fucking God some idiot found the intelligence to pitch this idea to an office of executives, because Connor’s lips left their imprint upon your stomach as if your skin was a sample before the main course. They would linger upon those spots before wrapping his lips around that patch of skin, breathing yet tasting a scent so strong he could no longer have enough of it. It was a technique you certainly taught him, considering he left blotches of passion and desire in his wake. His fingers sunk into the curve of your hips, the lines traced towards his most prized possession—your smile was the first, sex becoming the second best—and the blankets began to pile up around the heels of your feet as Connor’s rhythmic breaths found your lower lips and swallowed you whole._

_“Connor, c’mon.” A shiver wriggled into your nerves, hairs straight with a desire for more. “Y-You’re killing me, here.”_

“Connor, forget about the— the bacon,” you insist, hands assisting your leap off the counter to wrap your arms around his middle, “Please, please, _pleasepleaseplease_.” Never one to beg, your sheer will allows close proximity to the android, and your bare chest presses against the thin material of his top; half of you finds bliss in the weaving of android’s fates into the lives of humans, since that means his uniform no longer divides you further, except the other half loathes the ability to cook and worry for you because of it. You bunch up a piece of his shirt in your fist, the fabric willing to assist you in your search for climax, and the lines of your palm find the bumps trailing upon his arm. When your grasp reaches his hand on the counter, wound up and tight with your touch, one step further allows you the gift of his pointer finger working at your sex. A shiver escapes you because Connor can no longer help his shifting gaze, or the lack of observation that his beloved bacon was… burning.

Speaking of which, how do you like your bacon? Perhaps he can shift your attention to something so trivial yet quirky as that question…

“Don’t.” Your mother used to address you in such a way, the drawl of your name causing you to think back to the many times you did wrong without telling her, yet Connor implied of a consequence that would be more than welcome. The frown rises in his complexion, eyes shut tight as his fingers are coated with your fluids; his feet are planted on the square tile coated with porcelain, his mind dwelling on nothing but you and your puny yet extraordinary existence. “Fuck. This is not the time for—” A whimper escapes past your lips, too close to his ear for his comfort, and his hand falls limp against yours as you press his digits against your folds in slow, circular movements.

_“Can we try something different this time?”_

_Connor witnessing the roll of your eyes, and the curl of your lips was possible only through your elbows resting upon the mattress, lifting your upper body as far as your binds would allow you. The smile illuminating his features contrasted what irritation darkened yours, yet your spirits couldn’t help but brighten a bit due to the grin lingering across his lips. There was that same glint in his eyes, that diamond in the rough that no androids complying with their future held, that forced the urges and impatience from your body. He drew a chuckle from your aching heart, solace from nerves doused in an awaited delight, your bed sinking from underneath you as you no longer embraced the comfort of his warm breaths against where you needed him most. A chill nipped at the spot, trailing down to your thighs, an action followed by your legs crossing over the other to grasp whatever emotions Connor was prolonging from you._

_“Shoot,” you told him, your head rising from your pillows in hopes of meeting his, “Must be inter—”_

_“Can you sit on my face?”_

_Perhaps spitting in his face wasn’t what he wanted, yet your search for an answer brought about a sputter of questions and consent. Your eyes could no longer meet his, ones that often became the caffeine you desired after a long day, shuffling to objects in your bedroom that remained oblivious to your actions. His bottom lip quivered, his teeth an attempt to control what emotions he had let get ahead of himself, but what you wanted was quite the contrary. Whatever form of media allowed him his choice of words, who were you to deny a man looking for more in his relationship… especially if the decision would benefit both of you? How could you say no to those lips, or those eyes enticing you to lengths unpredictable?_

_He mirrored the behavior of a puppy, and… “God, yes. Who even taught you that?” The questions didn’t end there. “Wait, what if you can’t breathe or something? I know androids don’t breathe, but can their systems get overloaded? You can’t be fucking passing out with my thighs next to your face—”_

_“That… is a thought you should not be having. I apologize for interrupting you, by the way.” A click of his tongue was followed by a frown. “Got a bit too excited there, I admit.”_

_You mimicked his actions, except his frown was replaced with an affectionate smile only reserved for him. Your toes nudged at his thigh, his patches of pale, porcelain skin hidden from your lingering gaze by plaid trousers. The crimson and raven pattern was chosen by you, yet you wanted him rid of it; your mouth could only salivate at the thought, not the sight of all of him, and marks began to imprint lines of a color matching his pajama pants upon your wrists. For now, you would take what was offered to you: his lips, which were moist with his tongue tracing the hardening cracks in need of chap-stick from your drawer… or your own lips. You nibbling on his soft flesh was his reward, your front teeth pulling at the membrane of his mouth; his body fell to meet the cushion of your chest, his response to your ministrations to grasp at your breast, his thumb circling your nipple._

_“Connor, my love? My sweet, sweet muffin?” The tone in your voice was raised, a tune of a little reminder. “Mind unlocking these handcuffs?”_

_A nod was your response from him, his hand fishing into his pocket—pockets, you wish fashion allowed you as much—to pluck a key the length of his fingernail to free you from the confines of restraint and madness. He dragged his thumb across the curve of your lips before twisting the key inside the keyhole of your binds, a click of gears falling into place allowing you comfort and jurisdiction. The marks left upon your wrists, lines of abrasions shades darker than the pigments that enforced your identity, became a faint pulse on that particular spot that prickled at the pores of your skin. However, just a tap on your wrist allowed you comfort; Connor’s heat and individuality were the cure for all conflicts, a regrettable treatment for a city lost in their consciousnesses. A click of his tongue, an apology hanging by a thread, you became caught in a present—the objects in your room ever still, lines of that mnemonic you were taught in elementary school swallowing your legs tangled in Connor’s embrace—that mirrored forever._

_The way his eyes caught yours, grasping at your attention as if it was air… it was damn near close to it. “You better not say anything.”_

_Connor shook his head, a huff contrasting with the grin atop his lips. “You’re quite the masochist. I tend to forget, with your usual demeanor.”_

_“Well…” you began, crawling towards his form with your lips glistening through an insatiable need to adhere to his wishes, “I don’t exactly go shouting about it on top of rooftops.”_

_A low hum was evident behind his flat lips, his hands reaching behind his neck to grasp at the material of his shirt and throw it over his head. His shirt remained bunched up in his hands, a place that allowed you spacious floors and a sense of order in the maelstrom that was your relationship with him. This bedroom may have been yours, but the only evidence of that had been the bralettes and panties inches from your laundry basket; reaching inside, one would have had to extend their hands in order to interact with any semblance of you. You had the uncanny ability of not using up any of your energy to successfully make any shots to your basket, meaning that Connor had to be the one to reach down and throw whatever missed shots inside with just a flick of his wrist. Sometimes, he would turn the other cheek to what he considered one of the worst traits about you… and would smile because his deviancy brought about an appreciation for every atom or molecule in your body allowing you to live the way you did._

_Your thumb drew a line across his shoulder, eventually pulling him into the realm of reality and tribulations before pushing him towards the idyllic world of bliss and permitted desires. Your knees, adjacent to his hips, shuffled across the blankets towards his chest where your hands wrapped around the metal that built the foot of your bed fit for two. Your head resting on your shoulder, there was a scowl on your lips that Connor could only guess the reason for it: “Stop staring, it’s so… so…” He finished your sentence with a grin, a wink, and your skin grew hot with embarrassment. However, his eyes could not remain attentive to what clothes littered your room, or the faint ticking of your clock above your dresser, instead shuffling to the steady rise and fall of your chest and the parting of your lips. There was something particularly fascinating about you simply breathing, existing._

_“Unless you’re worried. In that case, we can—”_

_“Do you know what you’re doing? Seriously.”_

_“I know what you like… and I taught myself some tricks.”_

_Indeed he had, because his hands found your hips and pulled them towards his face, where his lips aligned with your sex in quite a swift fashion. A squeak was all that left you, his response being to inhale every scent of you into his nostrils; your aroma was so lovingly, intoxicatingly you that one of his hands left your hips to palm at the tent forming in his pajama pants. His clothes acted as a barrier between his hand and a realm of pleasure, except your mix of roses, sweat, and juices allowed his path to orgasm to become quite an easy one. The hiss that escaped through the gaps of his teeth forced a shudder from you, your legs shivering as if fearful as to what was to come to you. Your eyelids became the shield that protected you from ruin: Connor and his eagerness to ravish you until he was satisfied. They were shut tight, as if it could ever be a distraction from the Deviant yearning for all of his senses to be connected with yours._

_His head rose from your mattress to lick a stripe up your folds, his taste buds lingering on that foreign concoction; food never quite satisfied him or deferred his hunger, yet the groan caught in his throat was proof that he was certainly missing out on the wonders of the human body. How did he live a life without performing any of these acts, his emotions weighed down by the conservative, ruthless beings of CyberLife? How could he stand to meet your gazes, knowing that all you wanted was him, and that he could do nothing of it except retain a distance that left his heart aching and his thoughts tangled? To remedy that, he repeated his actions, then pulled from your bundle of nerves to press soft kisses against your thighs. His front teeth stretched your skin, marks you surely enjoyed left upon you, a gasp fueling him into leaving blotches of darker pigments on your inner thighs. Returning his attention to your lower lips, his hands reached over your legs to pull your folds apart with his two digits, his tongue flat against your pussy before spelling out your name with the cheerful cries of his taste buds. One letter had you reeling, and what he spelled out after the arch of your back was nothing short of nonsensical._

_His name was a faint cry for more from you, your body shaking as Connor was persistent in you reaching your orgasm. He mimicked the closing of your eyelids, the heat upon his cheeks more than your heat rubbing off of him, his tongue darting inside you to fully taste every inch of you. His digits found your sex once more, smearing your juices over your pussy as he busied himself in your inner walls. A moan traveled from his body to yours, toying with the knot forming in your stomach; the vibrations were nothing short of exhilarating, a whimper one of many pieces of evidence that you were enjoying it as much as he did. In fact, his hand traveled past the waistband of his briefs, cupping at his hardened member before…_

_One analysis ruined it all. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?”_

_“… What?”_

_“According to my analysis, you’re low on iron. You didn’t forget to eat, did you?”_

_Apparently, Connor couldn’t recall that you were inches from riding his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Connor!”_

“Connor. Fuck me,” you demand, his fingers brushing against your walls with only a whimper to halt him from any and all responsibilities regarding you. “I’ll eat all the bacon you want later. I will never forget to eat ever fucking again. Just… _pl-please_ … I need you right now.”

The spatula that was once tightly wound in his palm is thrown in the sink near the two of you, Connor’s body whipping around so his hands can grip at your hips and his lips can crash against yours. Your hand threads through his strands of hair, your other one wrapped around his waist so you can feel validation of his wants and desires for you. You cup at the bulge forming in his pants, dragging your palm along his aching manhood to elicit any reaction from him; what you receive from him is a growl uncharacteristic to his nature, every fraction of his energy towards lifting your body onto the counter. For someone taught to quell such emotions, he knows one thing: allowing them to run rampant just so he could swallow your moans and bring you to an everlasting bliss is the perfect mistake in an otherwise near perfect world. If he can experience the sight of you writhing underneath him forever, his name a mantra you can never forget, then perhaps deviance isn’t so bad. How can it be, when it allows him the chance to fuck you, _over and over_ just how you wanted him to?

… You may not be intaking your daily dose of iron, but _something’s_ ending up in your mouth by the end of it.


End file.
